Thirty Pieces of Silver
by Paceso
Summary: When we see the final break between Severus and Lily, some two years after this story is set, she says, "I've made excuses for you for years." How many times before that had Severus done something Lily couldn't accept, and how many times had she given him another chance? This is one of those times. An entry for the IWSC2.


IWSC2 round 4

Beauxbatons 2nd year

Theme: Hagrid's Hut (being different, ostracised, misjudged, on the fringe and attempting to reconnect)

Prompts: [emotion] betrayal (main), [action] skipping rocks, [platonic pairing] Severus Snape/Lucius Malfoy

WC: 2434

* * *

Author's Note: The great tragedy about Snape's life is what his sense of betrayal led him to do. Like Judas Iscariot, who saw in Jesus a rebel hero and was eventually disillusioned by Jesus' pacifist path, the child Severus saw in Lily's friendship the same golden opportunity to be rescued from oppression and humiliation. And, like Judas, when his hopes were dashed by the vastly different goals of his idol, his sense of betrayal led him to sell his soul and, ultimately, betray the one he had idolised.

Yet no betrayal is a single grand event—each is a series of small choices leading to an eventually inevitable conclusion. When we see the final break between Severus and Lily, some two years after this story is set, she says, "I've made excuses for you for years." How many times before that had Severus done something Lily couldn't accept, and how many times had she given him another chance? Clearly, their deteriorating relationship had a long history—this is one of its earlier stages.

* * *

**Thirty Pieces of Silver**

Severus let fly with another rock across the lake. It bounced once, tilted slightly, caught the top of the water at an angle, and wobbled erratically through the air a little further before it disappeared under the surface.

"Damn," he muttered.

He had been doing this for hours now, trying to keep the thoughts at bay. He was accustomed to concentrating on something else when his father's voice rose in anger and his mother cowered in fear. But this time the sense of betrayal was too deep, too personal, to be so easily repressed.

Severus was no stranger to pain. After all, he had grown up in Spinner's End. It was a rough neighbourhood, and a squalid one, but his neglected appearance had singled him out for persecution even there. Too weedy to fight the bullies, he had had to learn simply to ignore them. But it still hurt—it always hurt.

Yet those hurts had been nothing like this, for they were superficial, external. This pain dwelt in his inmost being—a dilemma caused by nothing more than two souls on increasingly divergent paths. In his heart, Severus knew that it was not yet too late to bridge the divide, but he shrank from the sacrifices that would entail. He sidestepped his self-reproach by focusing on her abandonment of him, but in doing so merely accentuated the heartache.

He picked up another stone from the pile at his feet. Flecks of red and green scattered across its grey surface caught his eye, and he winced. He considered it for a moment, and then laid it carefully to one side.

He remembered the first time he had seen the red-headed girl with her radiant green eyes. She was about his age, but oh—so very different. Neat and tidy, with her hair tightly plaited in two prim braids for school, her uniform was carefully ironed and her socks were without a wrinkle. Every line showed loving care, and her eyes sparkled with happiness.

Severus had gazed hungrily at her. He had felt no envy—she was so far beyond anything he could dream of having—but he had needed to convince himself that she wasn't an illusion. He had been glad when the teacher had placed her at a desk opposite his, where he could covertly watch her as she worked. He had even taken to going home by a longer route, so he could follow her for part of the way.

It was on one of those occasions that his tormentors had set upon him again and she had come furiously to his defence.

"Leave him alone, you great bullies! Just because he's from Spinner's End—it's not fair. Stop it, or I'll tell the headmaster tomorrow."

Under her fiery glare, they had fallen back sheepishly before slinking away.

"Are you all right?" she had asked, and he had nodded. Her voice was so musical, even in anger. Nothing like his father's grating tones or his mother's peevish whine.

The desperation rose in him again, and he reached for another stone. This time his aim was truer, and the stone skipped across the water—one…two…three…four times—before dropping into the depths of the lake.

The ripples on the water reminded him of her hair flying in the breeze. He had spied on her during the weekends and watched her playing with her sister. It was then that he had discovered she was magical, too, despite her Muggle heritage. But she didn't seem to realise it.

One day he had told her, and from then onward they had been friends. She was the first friend Severus had ever had, and she was the only one he wanted. Caring about people led to hurt, but he had trusted her.

But then had come Hogwarts, and she had been sorted into Gryffindor with that oaf, Potter. Oh, yes, she had courage, all right, but— His throat tightened. Bravery wasn't enough in this world; you had to do whatever you could to get ahead.

Severus selected a black stone and hurled it with all his might. Its flight was much too vicious for it to skip, and it fell with a splash far beyond the others. He wished it had been Potter's head. He wished it were Potter vanishing into the depths. Lily used to be _his_, and his alone, but the traditional enmity between Gryffindor and Slytherin meant that he was seeing less and less of her. At least she still came to his defence when Potter tormented him.

Severus's mind clamped down on the anger. It was the only way. You had to stay ice-cold, because if you let your emotions toss you around, the bullies won. He bent to pick up another stone.

"_Severus!_" Lucius Malfoy's exasperated voice sounded behind him, and he turned with a start. "I've called you again and again; why didn't you answer?"

With an effort, Snape pushed his thoughts aside.

"Sorry," he said abruptly. "I was miles away."

"I should say you were!" returned the seventh-year irritably. "Don't let it happen again."

Snape bit back the retort that sprang to his lips. He had worked hard to earn Malfoy's approval, but an incautious word could put that at risk so easily—especially when he had neither pure blood nor wealth to recommend him. He hastened to placate his mentor.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, rather more contritely this time. "I didn't realise you'd want me for anything this morning. Do you need a Potions assistant again?"

He hated being at Malfoy's beck and call, but it was the only means to advancement that he knew. Lucius's wealth and position, along with the whispers that he was aiming to become one of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters, marked him out as important, and Severus valued his role as the older boy's protégé.

"Not this time. There's a meeting in"—Lucius glanced at his watch—"five minutes. I've been hunting everywhere for you."

He turned on his heel and strode back toward the castle. Severus looked irresolutely at the pile of stones.

"Come _on_," his mentor called impatiently. Severus shrugged and followed him.

~o~o~o~

Lucius raised his voice over the hubbub. "Right, let's get started."

The chatter died down. Severus looked around at the familiar faces—Yaxley, Rosier, Nott, Rowle, Avery, Mulciber, the Carrows, and several others. Everyone was present, their faces expectant to hear the reason for this unscheduled meeting.

"As you know, the Dark Lord is increasing in power. Hopefully, it won't be long before the wizarding world no longer has to hide under the Statute of Secrecy, and pure-bloods will regain their proper place. We all want to be part of that"—several heads nodded agreement—"and we've been supporting each other's aims and sounding out others to join us. It's now time to get better organised. We need to learn proper Dark Arts, instead of just the footling 'Defence Against' business. My father and a few others are doing their best to persuade the Ministry that Dumbledore needs to change the syllabus, but in the meantime, I propose that we teach ourselves and practise whenever we can."

A murmur of approval greeted his words.

"Who'll teach us, though, Lucius?" asked Alecto Carrow. "I mean, nobody here is really skilled in Dark Arts, are they? How can we be, when they don't even teach us any?"

Lucius nodded at her. "It's ridiculous, isn't it? However, I was in Borgin and Burkes during the holidays, and I happened to find old copies of _Magick Moste Evile_ and _Moste Potente Potions_. Luckily, it was just after my birthday, so I was old enough to buy them. Borgin didn't seem too happy about it, but I told him if he didn't sell them to me, I'd make sure my father never patronised his shop again." A malicious grin spread across Lucius's face. "My father is a _very_ good customer, so that shut Borgin up immediately."

He showed them two well-worn books, their leather covers darkened by much handling and the pages yellowed by time. Eager hands reached out as he passed them around, and he clapped for silence again.

"For those of you who aren't aware"—he glanced at a couple of second-years—"these are classic Darks Arts texts. We can practise the incantations and potions in them, and challenge each other to various tasks. And, of course, some of the difficulty will be in performing the hexes without being caught."

Rowle passed the books to Severus, who leafed through them reverently. These mediaeval books listed spells he'd never even heard of, but he could see that, like remaining on good terms with Lucius, they were a means to success. A fierce desire to try every one of them consumed him, and he paid no attention to the conversation as it eddied around him. When he reluctantly closed the books and passed them to Mulciber, Lucius had changed the subject.

"—we need a good name for ourselves. Something quick and catchy, but discreet. Does anyone have any suggestions?"

"Proto Death Eaters," called a fourth-year.

Lucius frowned at her. "I said _discreet_," he repeated emphatically.

"Anti-Dumbledores—"

"Dark Artists—"

"Potent and Petrifying—"

"The Curse Crowd—"

The suggestions came readily from all sides, but Lucius shook his head at each one. None of them sounded serious enough, nor were they at all ambiguous if the full name was heard by outsiders.

Severus had been thinking desperately, for he knew he needed to win back Lucius's favour after his lack of attention down by the lake. An idea came, and he leant forward eagerly.

"What about Salazar's Successors? After all, we all want to be as great a wizard as he was, but people like Professor Slughorn will just think we're proud of being Slytherins. And we could call ourselves the SS."

"Perfect," approved Lucius, and Severus sat back with relief. "Does everyone agree that we're Salazar's Successors, or the SS for short?"

A chorus of assent arose, and Lucius noted down the decision.

"Right, Severus. You chose the name, so you can do the first challenge. Avery, you've got the books; find a good challenge for Severus to fulfil."

Avery flicked through the pages of _Magick Moste Evile_.

"Here's one," he called out gleefully. "'Ye Everlastinge Thirst Hexe. For to ensure thatte thine enemie yearns moste ardently for liquide which maye slaike his thirst, but remayns eternallye unsattisfyed noe matter whatte means he maye seeke to quenche his ardour…', et cetera. It doesn't look too difficult to cast, and it should be easy to tell if it's worked."

"That's a good point," acknowledged Lucius. "And whom shall we say he has to hex?"

"The Evans girl," growled Amycus Carrow. "It's time he got over that silly attachment."

Severus flushed uncomfortably.

"It says an enemy," he demurred. "Let me do it on Black instead. It will probably work much better on someone I really dislike."

A roar of laughter arose at the suggestion. Sirius Black was universally viewed as an enemy by the Slytherins as a result of his treasonous defection to Gryffindor, and they all relished the prospect of him thirstily drinking glass after glass of any liquid he could summon.

Severus heaved an inward sigh of relief at having once again postponed the difficult question of his divided loyalties, but then he thrust the dilemma from his mind as he considered when to attack Sirius.

~o~o~o~

At dinner that day, he winked at Avery and Mulciber and muttered, "Watch Black."

The three of them looked across at the Gryffindor table, where Potter and Black were laughing uproariously at something Lupin had just said. Severus's lip curled—Black would soon be the butt of everyone else's amusement for a change.

As they watched, Sirius reached for the carafe of water on the table, filled his glass hastily and drank deeply. He refilled the glass, sloshing the water into it in his impatience to drink. He downed the second glassful and reached for the jug again.

"Hey, steady on, Sirius," protested James. "Leave some for the rest of us."

But Sirius ignored his friend and reached for the jug a fourth time. The initial laughter which had rippled along the Gryffindor table was rapidly turning to consternation as they grasped that something was seriously wrong with him, whilst over at the Slytherin table, members of the SS were gleefully nudging each other as they saw the effect of Severus's spell.

A babble arose at the Gryffindor table as Sirius forsook his glass and drank straight from the jug, downing its contents in a few gulps before looking around wildly for another.

"Something's wrong with Sirius," yelled James. "Someone's hexed him or something. He can't stop drinking."

Professor Flitwick rose from his seat at the high table and waddled over to the Gryffindors, but Dumbledore's swift movement forestalled him.

"_Immobulus_." His voice rang out the charm across the noisy throng, and Sirius froze with a water jug halfway to his mouth. Dumbledore's eyes were as hard as steel as he gazed around the room, and his incensed voice thundered across the crowd, silencing them immediately. "Who has DARED to hex another student under the very noses of the entire Hogwarts staff?"

Severus did not even hear him. His exultant gaze had caught Lily's eye, and she was looking at him with horror. He blushed guiltily, then hated himself for it. He steeled himself to stare back at her challengingly, his eyes reminding her of all the times Potter and Black had tormented him. He knew she wouldn't consider that a justification, but in his mind it was. There was no other way to get ahead—you had to fight back if you didn't want to be beaten. In the Muggle-dominated world of their childhood, that option hadn't been open to him, but here at Hogwarts, with a wand in his hand, he was anyone's equal.

All this was in his eyes as they remained locked with Lily's across the Great Hall. Her own brilliant green ones darkened painfully, and Severus read the silent accusation in them. He knew she felt betrayed, and yet her refusal to understand seemed to him the greater betrayal.

In his mind rose the image of the red- and green-flecked stone he had so carefully laid aside earlier. His path was chosen now, and soon the stone would skim across the lake and disappear with the rest. With an effort, he averted his eyes from Lily and clamped down on the pain. He was learning to close his mind to it.


End file.
